


Memoirs

by reus123



Series: Main [1]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: I told myself I'd wait to post this but I'm impatient, It's kinda sad, M/M, Suicide mention, but it gets happy, jailor is an asshole, the unnamed lover is the mafioso, vig likes to punch things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reus123/pseuds/reus123
Summary: This is how it happens.





	Memoirs

These days he is nothing but anger and sadness. 

After the sun sets, he creeps out with furtive steps to a freshly dug grave and lays red roses for a lover long gone. He supposes that his midnight wanderings couldn't have gone unnoticed but the vigilante is too empty to care about eyes in the bushes, about the whispers that make their rounds each morning. He'd have confronted them, once. In another season, when the rope lay dormant in his cupboard and the gun in his hands didn't shake so hard that he couldn't even pull the trigger. He remembers the familiar glint of steel and smoke, of soft words that turn to bitter ash on his tongue even as he recites them, over and over, trying to feel something. He remembers what it was like to feel pain. 

The first few hours were the worst. He remembers a creeping loneliness that clawed up his throat, solidifying with every word that passed from the mayor's mouth. He remembers his hands tensing, a shudder ripping through him before his knuckles come away red and raw, the coldness of the cobbles and the bright blue of the sky as he finds himself breathless, an ache spreading from the centre of his chest, his eyes trailing tears. The doctor takes his hand and pieces him back together, covering up his treachery with clean bandages, and making him think, just for a moment, that he will be alright. 

He tries to recreate the past, to find it in the jailor's knowing smile and wandering hands but everytime the man touches him all he can taste is blood. There is nothing there for him except shadowed corners and memories clouded over by the tang of regret. The vigilante finds himself hating the coldness in those eyes, wanting nothing more than to break apart the steel bars and hard concrete walls. It's a stupid idea, although not one that he hasn't tried before. The transporter was the one that found him, the one who drove him home in the soft glow of moonlight, the one who clasped the vigilante's shaking hands and tried to stop the bleeding.

The transporter visits more often now, bringing with him a cheerful smile and the smell of the oncoming spring. It's not the same, but the company is appreciated. Through the quiet days and nights the vigilante speaks his story, and the transporter listens. They visit the grave together, in daylight, and the vigilante finally remembers how to be happy again. He remembers the way that his old lover would smile at him in the dark, he remembers their whispered promises, and he holds tighter to the transporter's hand. The spring arrives, and so does his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading please like and subscribe for more sad vig content


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